


Slip

by galactiicace



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Also there may be some sexy times later we'll see, M/M, NSFW, Possible Character Death, Seriously tho there's lots of depictions of violence so beware, Violence, brain washing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactiicace/pseuds/galactiicace
Summary: You're nothing like I used to knowTheir jagged talons are digging into his flesh, voices overlapping as they whisper for him to do it, pull the trigger and kill them all; he doesn't know why he's covered in blood, and he doesn't know where he is, who he is, anymore. Despite it all, the Strike Commander is still himself, even with the gaps in his memory, and the voices in his head growing louder, urging him to destroy everything he built, and everyone he loves. Despite it all, Jack Morrison is still Jack Morrison, right?





	Slip

**Author's Note:**

> So anyway I had a dream about this fic over the weekend and as soon as I got home from a vacation I sat down and belted it out in a night. I really have nothing much to say other than the original idea (aka dream) I had involved like, actual possession, but I liked this idea better. And also I don't have enough R76 on my profile. Also I was too lazy to bother with naming the talon agent in this chapter.
> 
> Also also hey forgot to mention I have a Twitter now y'all if you wanna keep up with daily happenings and junk. Catch me at twitter.com/galactiicace !

His teeth clicked, blue eyes sharp as he struggled with the ropes digging angry lines into his wrists; raw to the bone, he’d mostly stopped fighting the restraints. The assailant in the mask bore down on him, knuckles sharp into his cheek as his head snapped to one side, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he coughed through the shock of pain, lip cracked into the smirk as he rolled his gaze back to stare the soldier down. 

Jack’s face was swollen, one eye swelled shut, while blood streaked from his nose down the divots of his bare chest. His arms and legs were taut with the strain of his bindings, tied to the chair for could have been days ( weeks? He’d lost track shortly after the first injections ), muscles covered with gashes as they fought his resolve for information. He’d been shaking from it all, but the commanding gaze he held stayed steady, even through the abuse to the rest of the body. Purple welts danced their way down the lines of his engineered body, ribs cracked and broken and painful with each rasp of breath he took, until everything had all but numbed. 

“Talk, Morrison.” The distorted voice beneath the mask commanded, the flicker of anxiety that flashed through Jack’s eyes not going unnoticed as a vial of the pink substance was loaded back into the needle. Jack’s jaw set, but the hard swallow and the way his breath quickened gave him away too easily; he’d suffered bullets by the dozen, but this had come the closest to breaking him completely, insides curling at the idea of the acid being pumped back into him. 

Two rooms away, he could hear the screaming of the other soldier who had been taken, distinct despite the dozens of captives held in the undergrounds of the talon base. The boy had been the other casualty in the raid, and while Jack had given enough cover for the others, Fiore, the odd one out, had been done in before the Strike Commander’s back had been turned. 

“Your soldier has already caved, Morrison, you may as well end his suffering, and yours.” On cue, another scream, and Jack pulled hard at the restraints, a surge of stinging ignored in favor of trying to break free again. A snort, and the masked figure stepped closer, his gloved fingers tracing a line across Jack’s cheek and down his neck. “Stupid boy,” he hummed, pushing his fingers down to pet at the Commander’s bare thighs. “You could just talk, make this easy for all of us, instead, you’re making this difficult. Just like a commander.”

Jack didn’t respond, eyes forward as he tried to keep his breathing even, legs shaking with the strain as they were pushed open, the Talon soldier tucked between them as the tip of the needle dragged slow across aching muscles. A tsk from beneath the mask, and he felt the needle push into his inner thigh, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body as everything started to go white. Beneath the mask, the agent grinned, pulling his cover away from his face as his lips pressed gentle to the injection sight. 

“Don’t you worry, commander,” He hummed against the screams pulled from deep in Jack’s chest. “One way or another, you’re going to tell us everything.”

**

Gabriel’s head pounded, pads of his fingers pushed to his eyes as he tried to rub the stress from. He’d been awake nearly 4 days straight, the only reprieve coming just after he’d returned ( kicking and screaming ) from the Talon base in Mesa. Ana had been the insistent one in absence of Jack, forcing him to sleep while she did the worrying for him, fielding calls and questions as she attempted to take over her role as second in command. 

But now he was awake, and now he paced back and forth, the voices of the U.N.reps drowning and mixing together; he was vaguely aware they were yelling at him, and he was vaguely aware that he didn’t care. Ana’s hand rested on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze as she responded – far too quick wittedly – to the accusations slung like knives at Gabriel. Your fault, they hissed as they sat upon the heaps of cash the hostage situation had loaded them with. His blood on your hands, they sneered while pushing the knife to Jack’s throat. Gabriel could only block it out as noise to keep himself sane. There they sat, safe and sound in new York, while his team worked tirelessly to get information, formulating a plan to recover the abducted strike commander and soldier charged with keeping him safe. 

“I should have stayed,” He had muttered to Ana sometime after he was brought back, half dead, and strapped to a hospital bed to keep him from running off. “He said he was behind me, I should have stayed.”

“And if Talon hadn’t killed you, Jack certainly would have.” Ana was sitting at his bedside, dark circles under her eyes, while Fareeha slept against her chest. Gabriel watched them closely, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat as he fought back the rising bile at the thought of what was happening to Jack. 

“I don’t care. This was my mission, I shouldn’t have dragged anyone into it.”

Ana sighed, her eyes closing as a hand came up to press against them. She’d been having this fight since he came back, her only reprieve coming in the moments when he was unconscious after having been knocked out by far too much medication. She was exhausted, and she knew Gabriel was, too, but she was done having this fight anytime one of them was hurt. Whose fault it was, who should take the blame, it didn’t matter, and she’d die trying to beat that into both of their heads. 

“Does any of it really matter now?” Ana asked sincerely when she opened her eyes again, honey eyes falling on the marked face of the Blackwatch Commander. “What’s done is done, Gabe. All we can do now is get him home. And… if something’s happened, then we’ll deal with that guilt later. But you either need to shut up and start planning to get that idiot back, or you need to lie here quietly and let the doctors treat you while I figure it out. Either way, he’s coming home one way or another.”

Gabriel had opened his mouth to protest, but closed it now, turning to watch the ceiling as he swallowed down the building argument. He knew she was right, of course, that Jack’s situation, regardless of blame, had happened, and now they needed to save him. The last thing he remembered before going under again was the soft brush of Ana’s lips to his burning forehead, and her soft whisper of sleep before she left. 

That had been four days ago, and he was no step closer now than he was then to bringing Jack home. His only reprieve came now that the U.N. was off the line, and he had a moment to think. Ana sat beside him, silence the only thing capable of filling the void; there was little they could do but wait for the call that they’d found him.

And it took three more days for them to locate where the Talon base had moved. By that point, Gabriel had been doped enough to sleep, but Ana was the first to break the news to him. 

Her calloused hand felt soft, familiar, as he was roused from his sleep to her sitting at the side of his bed. For a moment, they looked at each other, only able to stare at each other before Gabriel’s voice caught in his throat; anything he could think to say was gone, and he was on his feet and in the conference room before Ana had the chance to call him back. 

“That you, boss man?” McCree’s voice came through the intercom as Gabriel pushed the heavy doors open. Gabriel didn’t answer before his agent continued, static buzzing through the comms. “We got em, boss. Worse for ware, but we found em. Get your ass down here before we lose them.”

**

Despite Ana’s protests, Gabriel hadn’t hesitated as he began preparing. He sat, now, nervously in the helicarrier, palm pressed to his mouth as his leg bounced in his anxiety. Jack was alive, far as Jesse could tell, and so was Fiore. Both were being held somewhere underground, barely alive, but both were holding their own as they fought against their abductors. 

“He’s alive,” Jesse had confirmed for what had to have been the sixth or seventh time. “But I dunno for how much longer. He ain’t doin’ good boss, heard them talkin’ ‘bout how he’s probably on his last leg. We gotta get ‘em both outta there and to Zigler soon.” 

It had only taken a few hours to mobilize, for forces to join a mile out from the base as they came up with their plan. Hit em hard, hit em fast, had been McCree’s idea, playing ( almost with success ) to Gabriel’s anger and worry to get Jack out. But he knew better than to rush in guns blazing – it may have been the way Jack operated, but Gabriel needed to be calculated. Especially now, with the Commander’s life on the line, one false move, and he’d be killed any second. Instead, he instructed them under, an entrance one of his men had found when scoping the schematics of the base. 

It was damp, the claustrophobic smell of must and familiar, metallic taste of blood in the air as they made their way in silence through the leaking tunnels beneath the hideout. Jack and Fiore were down here, somewhere, and each step felt simultaneously that much closer, and that much further away from saving them both. Another step, and Gabriel caught sight of movement up ahead. In an instant, his pupils pinpoint, fingers wrapping on the trigger of his guns as they moved forward. He was prepared to shoot down every last agent in the base if he had to. 

**

Jack was coming down again, chest heaving with breaths that didn’t fill his lungs. Everything was on fire, and he could only sit limp in the chair he was tied to, blood and spit dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were dull, unfocused, even as his line of sight to the door that kept him locked in was obstructed. He was vaguely aware of the click of a tongue, of leather-glad palm on his cheek, of the dull vertigo as his gaze was swiveled to meet the eyes of the Talon agent. He’d long since ditched his mask, far more in favor now of showing true colors.

He was handsome, a long scar pulled from under his right eye down half his neck, the five o’clock shadow he sported growing around the jagged marking. His eyes were brilliantly virescent, a mix of green-ish grey that danced iridescent in the low lights of the holding cell. For a moment, it was all Jack could focus on, his own cornflower hues swimming in the play of colors. 

He could feel acid rise in his throat, choking as the agent dug the sharp end of a blade against Jack’s abdomen. He was too weak to fight back, too weak to even scream, but he toughed it out, managing to keep some composure as he swallowed down the burn, eyes welling despite himself, letting go of the held breath despite himself, wishing, perhaps for the first time, that the agent would just kill him. 

Despite himself, despite his better judgement, Jack Morrison was still Jack Morrison. The knife was pulled away, and the sugar-sweet voice returned like nails to chalkboard in his ear. “You’re far too pretty when you look like this, Commander. Completely at someone else’s mercy, it’s a wonder how Commander Reyes doesn’t just eat you up.” Despite his better judgement, Jack Morrison was still Jack Morrison. The anger flashed through his eyes, his chin raised defiantly, and in what he knew would be his last act, he spit the mix of blood and bile across the assailant’s face. 

The cute demeanor was gone, the smirk gone, the calm gone. In its place was something terrifying, nostrils flared as he wiped the spittle from his face, examining it closely before his fingers curled, and he reared back. Jack still had the grin on his face, even after the fist came down on his cheek, even when the palm pressed hard to his throat, choking the life from him as he came closer. 

“It’s a shame, Commander. I really liked you.” Jack couldn’t so much as form a thought in response, mind blanked as he felt hot metal push against his stomach. He choked on the surge of pain, limbs shaking as he gasped desperately, eyes wide as he stared, disbelieving, at the knife plunged into his gut. He sank, mouth gaping, as blood spilled from his lips. The assailant sighed, clasping his chin as he wrenched Jack’s gaze to meet his own. “You really coulda done us some great things here, Commander. Instead, you get to die like a dog, all alone, and that kid is gonna die, too.”

Jack coughed, a smile forming on his lips as dulled cerulean eyes shone with whatever defiance he had left. “He’s gonna hunt you down…” he wheezed out, swallowing hard against the blood in his mouth. “He’ll hunt you… and he’s going to make you suffer…” For a moment, fear flashed in the agent’s eyes, the hard swallow in his throat not going unnoticed by jack as he took a step back. “Even if I die… you’re going t-to wish you’d killed me sooner.”

The assailant pulled back, the flicker a full flame in his eye as Jack’s grin grew. A sudden wave of anxiety, his head snapped to the door behind him, the sounds of distant shouts down the hall making him reach for his gun. He stepped backward, closer to Jack, as the sound of an explosion shook the ground he stood on. He could hear the wheezing chuckle, the last bit of breath Jack had wasted on laughing on his torturer. The commander was going to die, but so was he. 

“Where is he?!” The booming voice of Commander Reyes screamed far too close. The agent staggered, fingers shaking against the trigger of his gun, as he stumbled back towards the Strike Commander. Jack’s eyes flashed, first to the gun, and then to the quaking figure – fear was a dangerous motivator, a trigger happy Talon agent was dangerous, even if he was shaking with fear. He was close enough, now; he only had one shot. 

Despite himself, despite his better judgement, Jack Morrison was still Jack Morrison. 

His legs, long untied ( a mistake on the abductor’s part, he should have known better ), launched out and up. A scream tore through Jack’s throat as it pushed the knife deeper against his gut, his legs wrapping around the agent’s neck, yanking him back as he choked the shock out of him. They struggled, Jack’s legs tight around his throat, as the agent stumbled backwards, his body thrown backwards against Jack in a last ditch effort to throw the Commander off. Jack moved with him, dragging him down to the floor as the chair tipped over and the two hit the ground. 

The pain rocked through Jack’s body, nearly enough for Jack’s grip to loosen as the Talon agent clawed desperately at his skin. He squeezed harder, gritting through his teeth as he gave any strength he had to putting the bastard under. Hours, it felt, that they struggled like that, Jack’s legs trembling, and the agent’s fingers slipping as unconsciousness took him. He stopped the struggle, and Jack felt a sob wrack his throat as his body shook desperately. The pain was nearly numbing, his breath rasping in his chest. 

He was going to die, he already knew, he already accepted. His eyes sank closed, forehead drenched in sweat as his head rolled against the cold concrete. Jack Morrison, hero of the Omnic Crisis, who had been shot down in battle more times than he cared to keep track of, who survived experimental drugs that should have killed him, was going to die, bleeding out on the floor, completely naked and tied to a chair. Jack Morrison was going to die from a flimsy knife, after surviving some fifteen years of war. 

He was swimming, ears ringing even when the door was kicked in, soldiers he commanded storming through. Vaguely, he could hear the shouts of someone familiar, the voice rising in panic as he stumbled through to the spot where Jack and the agent had gone down. He was vaguely aware of firm hands on his arms, of the sudden release of tension as his wrists were cut free. He was vaguely aware that he was lifted to his knees, thick palm on his cheek as Gabriel’s voice filtered into his mind. 

“Jack!” He yelled, shaking Jack as his eyes scanned everything. The knife in his gut, the bruises and abrasions across his abdomen, the blood dripping from far too many crevices. He was pale, he was bleeding, he was dying. 

Jack’s head rolled, eyes fluttering as Gabriel held him steady, thumb swiping against his heated cheek. He stared, unseeing, for a moment, before relief washed over him, a soft smile on his face as he rasped out a breathy laugh. 

“Took you long enough.” And everything went black.


End file.
